


needle and the thread (ain't gonna wind up dead)

by Megeara



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Tattoo Artist Jaskier | Dandelion, Underground Surgeon Jaskier | Dandelion, blink and you miss laiden, can be read as, i am my own beta, yea he's both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megeara/pseuds/Megeara
Summary: “He helps out people like us.” Lambert had said.“He does it all for what? Money? Underground rep?”“Nah.” Lambert stretched out on Geralt’s ratty couch with a satisfied sound. “When it comes down to it, he’s an artist. He stitches you back together and only asks for a place on your skin to tattoo to his little heart’s delight.”-----Aka the AU where Jaskier poses as a tattoo artist, and patches up witchers under the dead of night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert
Comments: 29
Kudos: 136





	needle and the thread (ain't gonna wind up dead)

There was a time when Geralt almost lost his brother. Admittedly, Geralt almost lost a brother every second year or so; that’s just the life. But this one went like this:

_Lambert had missed their weekly check-in. Last they heard he was going after a Bruxa plaguing the outskirts of the city. Then a week went by, and Geralt’s phone remained silent. Calling him turned out futile; his phone was turned off. When asked about their younger brother’s whereabouts, Eskel had nothing useful to say as Lambert didn’t contact him either._

_Despite the passing of two centuries, The Path still remained uncertain and treacherous. Geralt knew this for a fact; any of them could die by the hands of a monster, or - nowadays more often than not - a human with the right weapon. The underground criminals carried guns that - when well-aimed - could kill them faster than the teeth of a nekker or the claws of a werewolf. But knowing these facts didn’t mean that Geralt was going to sit on his ass and wait for the end to catch his family when he could help out._

_He rolled out the map of the city on the long table and fished out his medallion. Yennefer enchanted them a while ago; as long as the wearer is alive they will find each other. Geralt enunciated his brother’s name clearly, and the medallion swung in circles, landing on a spot that was definitely now Lambert’s hunting ground. The metal wolf head remained still for several minutes before the chain rattled as the medallion followed a slow path._

_Having confirmation that his brother was still alive, Geralt shot a hasty message to Eskel and set out on his motorbike to Lambert’s last known location._

_Pure relief filled him at the sight of Lambert, swiftly tinting with exasperation and concern._

_Lambert lifted a hand from his midsection.“Oy. Geralt. What brings you around?”_

_“Where is your phone, Lamber?” he grumbled. He unhooked a helmet from the back and handed it to his brother. “Bruxa swallowed it?”_

_“Nah, it’s here,” he patted his backpocket and pulled out his phone. Cracks formed spiderwebs on the black screen. “Fucker threw me through a floor. Landed on my back. Got my side slashed to hell and back too, splinters sticking out like some fucked up hedgehog. The beastie got confident, so I managed to sever her head. I was lucky.” He groaned as he got on Roach behind Geralt. “Black blood, useful, that one.”_

_Lambert pressed himself against Geralt’s back, wrapping his arms around him securely. Geralt squeezed a wrist and felt the crinkle of plastic wrap. What…?_

_“Hey, careful with that one!” Lambert complained and Geralt pulled back. “My ink is still fresh.”_

_Now truly starting to feel annoyed Geralt turned as much as he could to look his brother in the eye. “You better have an explanation for this.”_

_“’Course I do,” Lamber mumbled. He pressed his brow between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “Just get us home.”_

And now, with rain coming down in sheets, his blood clogging the fabric of his trousers Geralt stumbled his way to the Dandelion. The tattoo parlor was located between two drab shops, completely inconspicuous. The building was graffitied with illegible scribbles and abstract designs and Geralt idly wondered if his bloodied handprints will stand out at all. The neon red sign of “closed” served as a lighthouse.

It was dark at this hour, but Lambert assured him that the owner would still answer. Geralt stumbled, falling against the frame of the door, and knocked three times.

The rain plastered his hair against the side of his face, and he swiped it back as much as he could, trying to make himself look at least a little more presentable and less like a cat dragged through a wet alleyway by a rope, but his blood surely left streaks in the white locks. Geralt groaned, deeming the matter redundant and knocked again. He heard the slap of naked feet first, before a voice called out.

“Who is it?”

He turned it inside his head a few times before answering. “A brother of Lambert’s. I need help.”

Geralt could hear the sound of three locks clicking open, a chain pushed and a latch creaking before the door was swung inwards slowly. Sleepy blue eyes blinked at him. The man’s shirt was open, his skin decorated with intricate flower tattooes up to his neck. His pushed up sleeve showed a lark with a buttercup in its beak. “Ah. Another one.” He didn’t sound surprised at all. “Come on in.”

The man opened the door further in and Geralt spied a switch-blade in his so far hidden hand.

The man caught his gaze and made a show of putting it away.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said cheerfully. “It’s a precaution, you see. One can never be sure.”

Geralt hummed. He couldn’t begrudge it. No, he approved. “I understand you do a service for certain clientele. I was hoping you could take a look at this.” He let his hand fall away from his gunshot wound, and blood immediately bubbled up.

Blue eyes widened then sharpened in annoyance. “Should have started with it, Mr. Lambert’s brother. Put pressure on it, for Melitele’s sake, and tell me what happened.” He moved deeper into the shop. “This way.”

Feeling chastised, he complied. “It’s Geralt. I’m a witcher.”

“You may call me Jaskier.” He circled around the various furniture and devices, and cracked a wall open with a light shove. Several mechanics clicked as the hidden door revealed stairs leading deeper down. Geralt prepared himself to a short journey of heightened discomfort. “Any light-headedness? I’d rather you not faint from the exertion.”

“I don’t faint. But if I would you can blame it on the blood loss.”

“Lovely.” Jaskier clapped. “Better get you downstairs fast.” He slipped under Geralt’s arm by his wounded leg and held him up with unexpected strength. Geralt heaved in a sigh and started down.

“So tell me; this doesn’t look like a typical post-hunt wound. Monsters don’t usually carry guns, do they?”

“Some of them do,” Geralt gritted. “This one did.”

Jaskier waved the question away. “Nevertheless, tell me what I’m up against. Please tell me the bullet exited.”

He pushed Geralt onto a table and he was suddenly struck by vertigo. He fell on his back and squinted up at the halogen lamps, but decided to close his eyes against it. The room was spinning around him. “I… I think so?”

The sound of fabric against fabric, water running and the scent of alcohol. “Very reassuring. Don’t worry, I’ll stitch you right back up.”

“Hey,” Geralt protested. His tongue felt like lead. “Aren’t you supposed to be a surgeon, or something?”

“Illegal surgeon, yes, the best on the street. But that means I don’t necessarily possess all the equipment a hospital would usually have.” Jaskier switched his makeshift bandage for one that actually did the job. His hands felt sure around his leg. “Case in point, I see a clean exit wound but don’t know if you still have any fragments inside without an x-ray.”

“No hospitals.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “I gathered.”

For a second silence descended on the room.

“Did you faint?”

Geralt hummed.

“Good. Let me ask you one more question then: how much do you like your leathers?”

Geralt promptly checked out.

When he came to, he was covered with a sheet, pantless. His wound was still wrapped up, but felt much better, stitches keeping the wound together. Geralt felt the distinct taste of Swallow in the back of his throat.

Light snoring came from his left. Geralt pushed himself up to see Jaskier dozing on a sheet-covered couch. He had two thick binders by his hand. They must have been full of tattoo designs.

_“He helps out people like us.” Lambert had said. “I know for certain that he worked on Coën multiple times. Some of the Cats too. Jaskier’s crazy but has a good heart.”_

_“He does it all for what? Money? Underground rep?”_

_“Nah.” Lambert stretched out on Geralt’s ratty couch with a satisfied sound. “When it comes down to it, he’s an artist. He stitches you back together and only asks for a place on your skin to tattoo to his little heart’s delight.”_

_Lambert pulled on the wrap on his left lower arm. A small feral cat hissed up, yellow eyes flashing. He let the wrap fall back in place.“I think it’s a pretty neat deal. Got to keep my guts and got a sick design.”_

Geralt shifted down from the metal table, wrapping the sheet around himself. He carefully picked up the first binder and opened it on a random page. Designs of monsters, animals, all kinds of flora spilled forth. While the monsters were highly inaccurate - all kinds of amalgamations that never existed, he noted disgruntledly - the art itself was truly awe-inspiring, Geralt supposed. Well then. He sat down on the ground, pulling the other binder closer. He had a debt to pay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hi! This has been sitting in my docs for ages, thought I'd post it for the hell of it. I've been writing some WIPs for a while now, so there might be a continuation to this if inspiration strikes. Who knows?
> 
> Note: I don't know anything about gunshot wound surgery.  
> Title modified from "Stitches" by Shawn Mendes.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> Hit me up on tumblr where I go by "hungarianbee".


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